<h2>Chapter 11: A World Less Strange</h2>


    James worked his way around the clearing''s edge, staying within the tree line. His heart hadn''t stopped racing since spotting the house, an actual house, built from what looked like local timber. It was single-story but solidly constructed, with windows that caught the sunlight and a proper chimney puffing smoke. A covered porch wrapped around one side, with tools and equipment, stored beneath its roof.


    A well-tended garden spread beside the house, rows of plants arranged in careful patterns. James''s stomach turned when he recognized those triangular leaves that had made him sick, though here they grew in orderly rows rather than wild patches. Other plants he didn''t recognize filled the garden, some bearing what might have been fruit or vegetables.


    Movement caught his eye. A man appeared from behind the house, carrying an axe. He was tall, muscled like someone who''d spent years working with his hands, with a thick beard that reminded James of a lumberjack. Tattoos covered his arms, almost runic in nature but with interlacing patterns that caught the light as he moved.


    This was clearly a homestead that had taken years to establish.


    James watched from behind a tree trunk as the man set up a chopping block and began splitting wood. The methodical thunk of the axe echoed across the clearing. Each swing spoke of practiced efficiency, this wasn''t someone who would be easily surprised or overpowered. Not that James had any intention of trying.


    The front door opened, and James held his breath as a little girl, maybe seven or eight years old, bounded out, followed by a woman who must be her mother. They looked normal. Human. The girl said something to the man, too far away for James to hear, and he paused his work to respond, leaning on his axe handle with casual confidence. The woman called something else, and the girl ran back inside, followed by her mother.


    A family, an actual human family, was making a life here. The garden, the woodpile, the sturdy house, they''d created something real and lasting in this harsh environment.


    James stayed hidden, watching as the man returned to his wood splitting. Questions raced through his mind. How long had they been here? Were they trapped like him, or were they natives?


    After what felt like hours but was probably only minutes of just watching, James made his decision. If they were human, they might help. If they were hostile... well, he couldn''t look very threatening in his current state. His clothes were in tatters, he was filthy from days of sleeping on the ground, and he''d probably lost weight from his limited diet.


    Taking a deep breath, James stepped out from the tree line, his hands raised in what he hoped was a universal gesture of peace. His heart pounded so hard he could barely hear over it as he took his first step into the clearing. The man hadn''t noticed him yet, focused on his wood splitting.


    James cleared his throat. "Hello?"


    The axe stopped mid-swing. The man turned sharply at the sound, his body tensing as he spotted James. In one fluid motion, he brought the axe down to a ready position, turning to face the unexpected visitor. For a split second, James thought he saw the tattoos on the man''s forearms ripple and shift, but he doubted his own eyes, hunger and exhaustion were playing tricks on him.


    He lowered the axe slowly but kept it firmly in his grip. His eyes narrowed as he studied James, taking in the torn clothes and disheveled appearance.


    "Stay where you are," he called out, voice steady but carrying an edge of warning. "Who are you?"


    "I... there was an accident," James started, words tumbling out faster as he spoke. "A car hit me, I was late for work, running across the street, then I woke up in the grass with two moons and these three jawed things hunting me, and I found this stone circle that kept them out, and I''ve been trying to survive, and I saw your smoke, and-"


    "Dayne!" a woman''s voice called. "What''s happening out there?"


    "Kira, get back inside! Keep Asha inside as well!" The man, Dayne, adjusted his grip on the axe.


    "Is there someone out there with you?" The woman appeared on the porch, her eyes wide. She took a step forward despite her husband''s warning.


    "I said get inside." Dayne''s voice carried the same edge of warning, but the woman, Kira, moved closer instead.


    "Look at him, Dayne. He''s terrified. And half-starved by the look of it."


    James realized his hands were shaking where they were still raised above his head. "Please," he said, his voice cracking. "I don''t even know where I am. The Splitjaws - these predator things, they hunt at night, and I''ve been sleeping in this stone circle, and eating Rollers, and I saw your smoke, and I just... I just need to know what''s happening. How to get home. If I can get home."


    James had rehearsed what he would say during his approach, stay calm, be non-threatening, and explain clearly. But now, seeing actual people, and hearing human voices for the first time in days, something broke inside him. The careful composure he''d maintained through hunting and hiding, through surviving on his own, suddenly cracked.


    "Slow down," Kira said, her voice gentler than her husband''s. She''d moved to stand beside Dayne despite his obvious disapproval. "How long have you been out here?"


    "I don''t... time feels wrong here. Maybe a week? I... I can''t tell anymore. I was just trying to get to work..."


    Kira took a step forward, but Dayne caught her arm.


    "I haven''t seen another person in days," James continued, the words spilling out between ragged breaths. "I didn''t even know if there were other people here and I''ve been sleeping in this circle of stones hoping those things don''t find a way in and eating whatever I could catch and I just... I just want to understand what''s happening."


    His legs were shaking now too, the adrenaline and emotion threatening to overwhelm him. A week of tension, fear, and loneliness crashed over him at once. The careful survival instincts that had kept him alive crumbled in the face of seeing other people, of hearing human voices.


    "Dayne," Kira said softly, something maternal warring with caution in her voice. "Look at him. Really look."


    Dayne''s grip on the axe had loosened slightly, his suspicious expression shifting to something more complex. He studied James''s torn clothes, the dirt on his skin, the wild look in his eyes.


    He lowered the axe completely, though he kept it in hand. "Kira, get some water and bread."


    "I''ll get the medical kit too," she said, already moving toward the house. "Look at his feet, his arms, he needs cleaning up."


    James glanced down at himself, really seeing his condition through their eyes for the first time. His feet were a mess of cuts and half-healed blisters. His arms bore scratches from hunting Rollers and moving through rough terrain. His clothes hung in tatters, stained with dirt and blood, both his own and from his kills.


    "You can lower your hands," Dayne said, his tone still cautious but less threatening. "But stay where you are for now."


    Kira returned with water, something that looked like bread, and a cloth bag that presumably held medical supplies. James accepted the water with shaking hands, trying not to gulp it too quickly despite his thirst. The bread, when she handed it to him, might have been the best thing he''d ever tasted. After days of nothing but hastily cooked Roller meat, actual prepared food brought tears to his eyes. He had to force himself to eat slowly, to savor each bite instead of shoving it all in his mouth at once.


    The bread had a nutty, slightly sweet flavor he couldn''t quite place. Real food. Prepared by people who knew what they were doing. He hadn''t realized how much he''d missed that simple comfort until this moment.


    Kira knelt beside him to examine his injured feet, her movements practiced and gentle.


    "I just... I woke up here," James said between bites. "I was in my world, crossing a street, and then-"


    "Head injury?" Kira interrupted gently, examining the cuts on his feet with practiced efficiency. Her tone was the kind used with confused patients, humoring but not believing. "Sometimes people wander far when they''re not well. Lose track of where they came from."


    "No, I mean I''m from somewhere else entirely. A place called Earth, with one moon and-"


    Dayne and Kira exchanged a look he''d seen doctors share in emergency rooms, that careful, measured glance that said ''don''t upset the confused person.''


    "Let''s focus on getting you cleaned up," Kira said diplomatically. "You''ve been out there a while, from the look of these wounds. Rest and proper food will help."


    "Thank you," James said instead, accepting another piece of bread. "For helping me."


    As Kira continued treating his feet, he tried again, more carefully this time. "Where I''m from... I mean, the place I remember..." He stumbled over the words, suddenly understanding how crazy he must sound to them. What would he think, back home, if some disheveled stranger stumbled out of the woods claiming to be from another world? The words died on his tongue, the impossible explanation withering before he could even form it.


    "There''s a large settlement about two days west," Dayne said, eyes still assessing. "Could be where you wandered from. Might explain the memory loss."


    "My mom..." he started, then saw their expressions soften with sympathy. They thought he was delirious, remembering a mother who must be long dead or far away in some other settlement.


    "Rest," Kira said, patting his arm. "Food and sleep will help sort out the confusion. You''re safe here."


    "Kira," Dayne''s voice carried a warning. "We don''t know-"


    She shot him a look that could have stopped a Splitjaw in its tracks. The kind of look that could only develop over years of marriage, carrying whole conversations in a single glance.


    Dayne''s jaw worked for a moment before he let out a grunt. "He sleeps in the storage shed. And I''m locking the house tonight."


    "Of course you are," Kira said mildly, but her tone carried a hint of victory. To James, she added, "The shed is dry, and I''ll bring out some proper bedding. Better than sleeping rough in a haven."


    James watched this exchange, noting how Dayne''s hand still strayed near his axe, how his eyes kept tracking every movement James made. The man''s instinct to protect his family warred visibly with his wife''s determination to help a stranger who was clearly unwell - at least in their understanding.


    "What do you remember?" Kira asked gently, her hands still working methodically on his battered feet.


    James began to recount his days, from the time he awoke in the field to the present, stumbling upon their home.


    "So you found a haven and learned to hunt Shellbacks alone?" Dayne asked, his tone still skeptical but curious. "Must have been desperate to tackle them without proper tools."


    James took a moment to translate the words in his head. Haven was the stone sanctuary; shellbacks were what he''d been calling Rollers. "The carvings helped," he said carefully. In the... haven, they showed me when the predators hunt. When it''s safe to move." He almost said ''Splitjaws'' but caught himself, not sure what they called the hunters here.


    "Smart," Dayne admitted grudgingly. "Still doesn''t explain your strange talk, but at least you''ve got survival sense."


    Kira returned with blankets and clothes that looked well-worn but clean. "Get some rest. We can talk more tomorrow."


    The last thing James saw before they led him to the shed was little Asha''s face pressed against a window, watching this strange newcomer with undisguised curiosity.


    The shed was small but sturdy, with a proper wooden floor and shelves lined with preserved food and tools. Kira had laid out thick blankets on a straw mattress, luxury compared to his grass beds in the haven. As James settled onto it, his full stomach and clean bandages made his exhaustion hit all at once.


    But his mind raced despite his body''s fatigue. These people weren''t transported here like him, they were natives of this world. They had settlements, communities, lives built entirely in this place he''d thought was empty except for the nightmares that stalked the darkness. How many people lived here? How far did their civilization extend beyond these fields and forests?


    And why had he been sent here? Was it random chance, or had something, someone, chosen him specifically? The car accident felt like a lifetime ago now, but he still couldn''t connect that moment on the crosswalk to waking up in a field of grass.


    His eyes grew heavy as questions tumbled through his mind. Was there a way back? Did he even want to think about that possibility, knowing it might lead nowhere but disappointment? His mom''s face floated in his thoughts - was she looking for him? Had any time passed there at all?


    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    The blankets were soft, nothing like the rough grass of the haven. His last conscious thoughts drifted to their words, their natural, comfortable way of describing this world that was their home. If he wanted any chance of understanding this place, he''d need to stop thinking like a lost stranger and learn their language, their customs. The way they saw their world might be his only window into understanding it.


    His thoughts faded as exhaustion finally won out, and he drifted into the first truly peaceful sleep he''d had since arriving in this strange world.


    <hr>


    Sunlight streaming through the shed''s single window woke James. The shed''s wooden walls surrounded him, the borrowed blankets still warm from his body.


    His muscles protested as he sat up, days of tension and survival finally catching up with him. The bandages Kira had applied were holding well, though his feet still throbbed. Outside, he could hear movement, voices, the clatter of tools, sounds of life that seemed impossible just yesterday.


    Outside the shed, the morning brought more of Kira''s quiet efficiency. She handed James a bundle of his clothes, now clean and mended, the tears from his desperate days in the grasslands sewn with neat, even stitches.


    "Washing spots behind the house," she said, pressing a chunk of rough-hewn green soap into his hands. It smelled of herbs and something sharper, almost medicinal. "There''s a stream-fed pool deep enough to sit in." She gave him a frank look that reminded him of his mom''s ''you need a shower'' expression. "You''ll feel better getting the blood and dirt off."


    James nodded, clutching the soap as he followed the worn path that curved around the side of the house. Every few steps revealed new details of the homestead he''d missed from his hiding place in the trees. A rain barrel collected water from wooden gutters. Drying herbs hung from the eaves, twisting gently in the morning breeze, he spotted what looked like a tanning rack with cured hides stretched taut.


    The washing pool lay in a natural depression where the stream had been diverted and deepened with strategically placed stones. Clearwater bubbled in at one end and trickled out the other, maintaining a constant level. James glanced around, suddenly self-conscious despite being alone. His legs felt unsteady as he removed his clothes, folding them into a neat stack.


    The first touch of water stole his breath, a shocking cold that seemed to slice straight to the bone. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to continue, lowering his body inch by excruciating inch until he sat fully submerged. After the initial shock, the cold became almost pleasant against his various scratches and bruises. Days of accumulated grime began to loosen.


    He worked the green soap into a thin lather, breathing in its unfamiliar but pleasant scent. As he scrubbed, the water around him darkened with dirt, blood, and sweat. The current carried it away, replaced by clean water from upstream. Cuts he didn''t know he had stung sharply, then settled into dull throbbing.


    For a moment, he just sat there, letting the cold water numb his aching muscles.


    It was the first moment of true peace he''d experienced since arriving in this world. Despite the cold, despite his uncertainty, despite everything, this simple act of washing felt profoundly human, connecting him to the life he''d left behind and the people who had taken him in.


    When he returned, clean but with damp hair still dripping, she had another surprise. A pair of sturdy boots sat by his bedroll, well-worn but solid.


    "Dayne''s old ones," she explained, not making a big deal of it. "Better than barefoot on the grass. Might need stuffing in the toes, but they''ll do for now."


    The boots were a bit loose, but after days of bare feet, they felt like luxury. more than that, they felt like acceptance.


    "There''s food and water by the back door if you''re hungry." The bowl contained something thick and grainy, steaming in the morning air. Not quite oatmeal, but similar enough that James''s stomach growled at the sight.


    "Once you''ve finished eating," Dayne''s voice carried from the woodpile, "the Shellback pens need cleaning."


    They raised them here, he realized. Of course, they did. Why hunt what you could farm?


    "Dayne," Kira''s tone carried that same warning edge from last night. "He needs rest. Those feet won''t heal if-"


    "It''s okay," James interrupted, surprising himself with how steady his voice sounded. "I want to help. After everything you''ve done for me..." He met Dayne''s evaluating gaze. "It''s the least I can do."


    "Father!" Asha chimed in, hands on her hips in a perfect imitation of her mother. "Mother''s right! He''s hurt!"


    Something shifted in Dayne''s expression, not quite approval, but something. Kira still looked ready to argue, but James''s willingness to work despite her protests seemed to have made an impression.


    The morning passed in a blur of simple tasks, each one revealing how little he truly knew about the creatures he''d been hunting to survive. Kira showed him how to approach the Shellbacks from their sides, where their vision was best. "They''re gentle things," she explained, demonstrating how to stroke the edge of their shells in a way that made them calm and docile.


    James watched a young Shellback press against Kira''s hand, almost like a cat seeking attention. His stomach turned as he remembered the violence of his hunting, the sharp shell fragments he''d used, the desperate wrestling, the killing. These creatures weren''t just docile, they were almost affectionate. How many had he terrified in his struggle to survive? How many families had he broken apart with his clumsy hunting?


    "Can I show him how they like to play?" A small voice piped up. Asha had appeared beside them, clutching what looked like a smooth stone in her hands.


    "Don''t disturb them while they''re eating, Asha," Kira warned, but her daughter was already demonstrating how to roll the stone along the ground. Several of the younger Shellbacks followed it, their shells gleaming in the morning sun.


    "See?" Asha beamed proudly. "They''re smart too. Father says they''re smarter than most people think." She handed James the stone. "You try."


    James took the stone carefully, aware of Dayne watching from the woodpile. When he rolled it like Asha had shown, the Shellbacks followed just as eagerly, making the little girl giggle with delight.


    "You''re doing it wrong," she informed him seriously. "You have to roll it in circles or they get bored. Like this..." She reached for the stone, her small hands confident with the creatures he''d once feared.


    "Asha," Kira called from where she was filling water troughs. "Let him work. The pens still need cleaning."


    The day''s work proved harder than anything James had done at Electronics Paradise. By mid-afternoon, muscles he didn''t know he had were screaming in protest. Hauling water, cleaning pens, helping Dayne stack wood, each task revealed how soft his former life had left him. His retail job hadn''t prepared him for this kind of physical labor.


    He watched Kira gathering plants from their garden, his body tensing when she pulled up several clusters of the triangular-leafed plants that had made him violently ill. He almost called out a warning, but stopped himself, surely she knew what she was doing. Still, the memory of that sickness made his stomach clench.


    Dinner was served in the house, a privilege he suspected was Kira''s doing rather than Dayne''s choice. The table held what looked like roasted Shellback meat and, to his horror, a steaming bowl of those triangular leaves.


    His shock must have shown when both Kira and Dayne served themselves healthy portions of the plant. "Is something wrong?" Kira asked, noticing his expression.


    "Those plants," James said hesitantly. "I tried eating them when I first... I got violently sick."


    Understanding dawned on Kira''s face. "Ah. You ate them raw?" When James nodded, she smiled. "The sweetleaf needs to be boiled properly first. The water has to be changed three times to draw out the toxins. After that, they''re perfectly safe, and quite nutritious."


    James watched them eat, still uncertain. Asha was already halfway through her portion, clearly suffering no ill effects.


    "Try some," Kira encouraged, passing the bowl. "You''ll need to learn these things if you''re going to..." She trailed off, but the implication was clear, if he was going to survive here.


    Cautiously, James took a small portion. The cooked leaves tasted nothing like their raw counterparts, the bitterness was gone, replaced by something almost sweet, which made sense given its name. He thought of his desperate foraging, and how close he''d come to starving, all because he didn''t know the proper way to prepare what was apparently a staple food.


    As they finished their meal, Kira glanced at Dayne. "Maybe we should take him to Storhold when you make the trading run next week. The healers there might help with his memory."


    James paused mid-bite. The thought of lying to these people who''d shown him such kindness made his stomach twist. He knew he wasn''t from any settlement, knew his "memory loss" was just their way of making sense of his impossible story. But Storhold... the name itself carried weight, suggesting civilization, other people, maybe answers about this world. Maybe even a way home.


    "He''s barely steady on his feet," Dayne responded, though his tone wasn''t unkind. "And the trading run''s a three-day journey."


    "All the more reason to have him looked at," Kira pressed. "The healers might know what caused his confusion. Why he was wandering alone."


    James stared at his plate, caught between confession and curiosity. These people had taken him in, fed him, taught him. They deserved the truth. But would the truth just convince them he was mad?


    James looked up, meeting Dayne''s evaluating gaze. "What''s... what''s Storhold like?"


    "Biggest settlement in these parts," Dayne said, breaking off a piece of bread. "Trade center. Where most of us gather to exchange goods, share news."


    "The healers there know more than anyone," Kira added. "If there''s a way to help your memory..."


    "I wouldn''t want to be a burden," James said carefully.


    "I''m making the trip anyway," Dayne replied. "Need to trade some Shellbacks, pick up supplies." He paused, studying James. "You''ve shown you can work. Could use the help with the wagons."


    The offer surprised James - it was the most Dayne had said to him directly, and the first hint that the man might be accepting his presence.


    Asha, who had been unusually quiet during this exchange, suddenly perked up. "Can I come too this time, Father? Please? I want to see the big gates and-"


    "Not this trip," Dayne cut her off, but gently. "Next time, perhaps."


    James felt the weight of the decision before him. Three days to Storhold meant three days of maintaining his story, of playing along with their assumption of memory loss. But it also meant learning more about this world, about its people, about possible ways home.


    "I''d be grateful for the chance," he said finally. "And happy to help with the work."


    Something in Dayne''s expression shifted. "We leave in four days. Get your strength back before then."


    The next few days fell into a rhythm. Each morning, James woke with muscles screaming from the previous day''s work, but he pushed through it. His body was adapting, growing stronger. The blisters on his hands from woodcutting hardened into calluses. His bandaged feet began to heal properly under Kira''s care.


    The Shellbacks no longer seemed alien to him. He learned their patterns and personalities. Some mornings, he''d help Asha with her chores, watching her demonstrate how different ones preferred different treats. She named them all, though he suspected she changed the names daily based on her whims.


    "This one''s grumpy," she''d declare, pointing to a particularly large Shellback. "Just like Father in the morning." She''d dissolve into giggles when James made a show of tip-toeing around it.


    During breaks from the harder labor, Asha would insist on teaching him what she called "important things." These included which flowers were safe to smell, which birds meant danger was nearby, and how to tell if rain was coming by watching the Shellbacks'' behavior.


    "And when you hear the wind singers," she was explaining one afternoon, pointing to birds circling overhead, "it means the Sarriths are hunting nearby."


    "The what?" James asked, the unfamiliar word catching his attention.


    Asha looked at him like he''d asked what water was. "Sarriths. The hunters? The ones with 3 mouths?" She made a gesture with her hands mimicking their three-part jaws. "The scary ones."


    "Oh," James said, realizing she meant what he''d been calling Splitjaws.


    "Father says they''re getting braver near the trading paths," Asha continued, completely missing his moment of revelation. "That''s why we have to be extra careful on the way to Storhold."


    "The path to Storhold follows the high ground," Dayne explained one evening as they loaded the wagon. James felt a sudden, inappropriate urge to smile, thinking of a certain Jedi who would have approved of this strategy.


    "Something funny?" Dayne asked, noticing his expression.


    "No," James said quickly, sobering. "Just... remembered something." That was safe enough, they already thought he had memory problems.


    "Sarriths don''t like the open spaces," Dayne continued, demonstrating how to secure the Shellbacks for transport. "Harder to ambush. Three days there, if weather holds. Two nights camping."


    As the sun began its descent on their last day before departure, Asha bounded over to where James sat outside the shed, clutching her favorite stone from the Shellback pen.


    "Mother says I should keep you company out here while they discuss grown-up things," she announced with the seriousness only children can manage. Dayne and Kira had disappeared into the house moments before, the door closing firmly behind them.


    James suppressed a knowing smile, understanding exactly what kind of "grown-up things" required privacy on their last evening together. He settled in to listen to Asha''s detailed instructions about proper Shellback care during the journey, her voice carrying across the yard in the late afternoon light.


    "Father says you have to check their shells every morning," Asha continued, oblivious to anything but her self-appointed teaching role. "And Mother says to make sure the sweetroot is always properly cooked, even if you''re tired from traveling..."


    "Have you ever been to Storhold?" James asked, watching Asha arrange stones in a pattern that seemed to make perfect sense to her.


    She shook her head, dark hair falling in her eyes. "Mother and Father lived there before. That''s where they met. But they left before I was born." She looked up at him. "Mother sometimes talks about the big market, and how you could find anything there. Father doesn''t say much about it though."


    She went back to arranging her stones, unbothered by her father''s typical silence on the subject. "Mother says I can go when I''m older. See the big gates and everything."


    James wanted to ask more, but Asha had already moved on, returning to her lecture about proper Shellback care during the journey.


    Asha rambled on, jumping from topic to topic with a child''s endless energy. Stories about her favorite Shellback (which seemed to change with each telling), the time she saw a glider land on their roof, and how she once found a shiny rock that looked exactly like the smaller moon.


    James listened, offering the appropriate sounds of amazement at each revelation. It struck him that Dayne and Kira must trust him at least a little now, letting their child sit alone with a stranger they''d found wandering the grasslands. He remembered Dayne''s constant watchfulness those first days, how his hand never strayed far from his axe.


    Maybe it was how he''d thrown himself into the work without complaint, even when his muscles screamed in protest. Or how he''d answered their questions openly, even if he had to dance around the truth of his origin. He''d shown eagerness to learn their ways, and respect for their knowledge.


    Trust was earned slowly here, measured in small moments, Kira leaving him alone with the animals, Dayne teaching him instead of just ordering him around, and now this: their daughter chattering away beside him, completely at ease.


    When Dayne and Kira emerged from the house, they looked as composed as when they''d entered. Asha barely paused in her story about a Shellback that supposedly knew how to dance.


    "Asha," Kira called. "Time to come in. Say goodnight."


    "But I haven''t finished telling him about-" Asha started to protest.


    "Tomorrow comes early," Kira said firmly. "Say goodnight."


    Asha sighed dramatically but got up, gathering her stones. "Goodnight! Don''t forget what I told you about the Shellbacks!"


    Dayne approached as Asha ran to her mother. "First light," he said simply. "Long day ahead. Get some rest." His tone was gruff but not unkind, another small measure of how far they''d come from those first suspicious days.


    James sat outside his shed for a while after they''d gone in, watching the twin moons rise. Tomorrow meant Storhold, new territories, and maybe answers. His muscles ached from the day''s preparations, but it was a good ache, the kind that promised sleep would come easy.


    As he settled onto his bed, his mind drifted to the journey ahead. Three days on the road, watching for Sarriths, keeping the Shellbacks calm. He''d have to remember everything Asha had told him, everything Dayne had shown him. Sleep came quickly, his thoughts full of dawn and the road ahead.